


punctuated with punches and kisses

by mikantsumiki



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Dysfunctional Relationships, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Smut, Violence, boys who dont know how to relationship, but theyre going to turn out functional in the end ok
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-30
Updated: 2012-12-30
Packaged: 2017-11-22 23:46:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,702
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/615723
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mikantsumiki/pseuds/mikantsumiki
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>you feel human around him</p>
            </blockquote>





	punctuated with punches and kisses

**Author's Note:**

> uh well i  
> dont know what this is honestly  
> hope you like???

You’re way beyond past upset with Jake – upset was when he tried to get out of this situation by saying he was busy, he’ll talk to you later and avoid you some more; upset was when he started fighting back and trying to defend the shit he said before to Jane and how he didn’t mean it; upset was when he tried to make up for it by kissing you, stealing all the air in your lung capacity and leaving you dizzy and breathless.

In other words, you’re so far from upset with Jake English that there’s no word in your extensive vocabulary you can think to replace this emotion you’re feeling. It burns, it burns, it burns but it burns good. How does burning feel good, you don’t know, but it twists this anger, sadness, regret, rage, bitterness, into something that makes you want to punch him in the face and knock out all of his teeth and then try to put them back in like he’s some goddamn puzzle for you to figure out.

And you do, but there’s no teeth cracked, no puzzle to mess with; only blood and fists and balled up months of holding back from saying how you really feel. He’s made you feel like this for months, made you feel ignored and unloved while you tried to talk to him, say anything that’d make him talk back, anything that’d help you figure out what he’s thinking, what’s ticking inside of his head. You just want things to get better.

They used to be good, back when it first started. He was hesitant to kiss, shy when it came to holding your hand, uncharacteristically rough and eager when it came to sex (after the first time, that is). It was good, you were comfortable, he seemed comfortable, you were both comfortable and everything was alright.

He became distant, he stopped calling you first, he talked less and less whenever you contacted him. It was dragging on like that day in and day out, the same damn thing over and over, you were tired, he was tired, he needed space.

You gave him space, as much as he needed, stopped talking every day; you tried talking to Roxy and Jane more to fill the void, it wasn’t the same, they aren’t Jake.

They aren’t the guy you currently want to punch in the face so hard that he sees the stars, dreams of the galaxy floating past.

They can’t be Jake when you need him most.

You’re on him within minutes, pouncing onto him like he’s prey, like you’re going to devour him into pieces with words and fists and an aching pain that never seems to go away. You love him, you really do. You feel too young to know what love is, but you feel this intense anguish wash over you whenever you see his face, hear his voice, touch his skin.

That’s what love is right? It’s wonderful and hurtful and it feels like your heart’s being ripped out of your chest and stopped into the ground. Stomp, stomp, stomp, it bites the dust and crumbles before your eyes.

It makes you feel sore without even moving, like you’re trapped and cannot escape; it sucks you back in every time you pull out. It hurts, it hurts, and it keeps hurting even when you’re happy. You can’t smile without this ache, it’s always with you. He’s always with you.

You don’t realize you’re crying until after you’ve punched him, until after he’s giving you this startled look— _Good God, Dirk, what’s come over you?_ —until after he’s tried fighting back, when he grabs your fists to block your assaults, your blows to his stupid ego and stupid face and that stupid smile of his that makes your heart skip a beat, goddammit, he’s not allowed to stop you. Your tears splatter down but that won’t stop you.

Nothing will. Jake can’t stop you either, no matter what he says.

Or what he doesn’t say for that matter.

He asks you what’s wrong, how he can help, why are you crying, did something happen? He should know perfectly well what’s wrong and why you’re in tears. You shouldn’t be though, Striders are too cool and collected to cry, they have to stay composed and not seem weak. You try to stop, you try so hard, but they keep coming.

You punch him again, square in the jaw, hard enough to leave a bruise.

You’re sure he’s getting mad now, you see it in his eyes; you won’t talk to him, like he’s been doing to you for months. You put up a fight when he grabs your wrists, trying to hold them above your head so that he can talk to you.

He uses his free hand to swipe at your shades, exposing the only sane and composed part of you left. You feel naked under his stare, but his face softens a bit, as if he understands what you’re feeling, what you’ve been feeling for _so long,_ so long that the feeling’s become dull, it thuds, thuds, thuds and aches but you’ve grown used to it.

You’ve grown used to a lot of things.

You’re not sure how you got wound up in the position you’re in next, but next thing you know your eyes are closed and Jake’s trying to kiss you again, like he’s kissing one of your many boo boos; kisses make them all better, a mommy would’ve taught. You didn’t have a mother to teach you that, you barely had anyone.

You want to shove him back, tell him that no, this won’t make things better, no, no, no, you’re going to fall back into the same patterns with him again, you’re done, you need to talk this shit out like boyfriends are supposed to.

Instead you kiss him back and your lungs are on fire, you can’t breathe around the hurt, around his lips. He drops your hands and twines his fingers in your hair, pulling you deeper, suffocating you in his physical affection. You protest, you’re trying to pull away, he can’t keep avoiding this and trying to make it up to you this way. Relationships don’t work like that, Jake, but you wouldn’t know either.

He’s your first everything. First kiss, first crush, first love, first and only person you plan on sleeping with, first human touch. You’ll never get over that, he’s your first and you’re his first and that’s the way things are supposed to be. One day the two of you will grow old together, have a house, get married, make a family, watch them make their own families, lie by one another until one of you passes and the other joins soon after. You’re going to be with Jake English forever, that’s what you’ll say.

You push him away when the pressure becomes too much, you need to breathe. He’s panting like a dog, tongue hanging out and everything and you wonder what attracted you to this idiot in the first place. Sure he’s handsome, he’s got whacky interests and he knows how to keep a conversation going with you. Isn’t that all you need in a partner?

You think so at least.

He’s pulling you back for another kiss before you know it, passion building with every peck and noise he makes. How can you not forgive this boy, he’s still learning, he doesn’t know how to relationship any better than you do. He’s human, he’s going to make mistakes, he’s got to be forgiven for them when he asks for it. He swears he won’t make the same mistake twice.

Your cheeks are still damp, your lips parted. You want to say something, anything; you want things to be right again between the two of you. You want to be okay, you want the pain to go away, you want him to take it away and replace it with the happiness he makes you feel with each touch, each kiss, each breath he takes. He is your happiness and you need him now.

He's so sorry, he tells you, he's sorry, he's sorry, he's sorry, he won't ever hurt you again, he promises. He will promise you the world and the stars and every single galaxy that he knows, and every single creature that lives on his island that he won’t.

You love him too much not to believe, he makes your sun rise and your moon set, he is the yin to your yang, the Bonnie to your Clyde, your future lifetime partner, your other half.

He makes your heart smile and your face smile and your whole world smiles because of this boy, sometimes it's too much for you to handle, it’ll make you sick to your stomach and make you want to vomit, but it makes your heart happy. The anxiety it feels dulls and then you can’t feel it anymore.

You still want to hit him, cause him as much pain as he’s caused you, show him no mercy until his heart breaks as bad as yours is broken. Yours is torn in two, you want him to match. You could put your hearts together and it would be whole, the two of you could be whole, could be fixed, once again. You don’t want love to hurt this much anymore.

You push him down again until his back’s to the ground, your hands on his shirt hem within moments. You yank the offending material away in pieces, you make sure that he can’t wear it ever again, he complains that that shirt was his favorite, you don’t respond to it. He can get a new shirt, he can’t have another you.

He’s beautiful without a shirt, all chiseled teen muscle and toned abs and dark skin, a soft milk chocolate. He’s your favorite kind of candy, you’d eat him always. Your hands are all over him in moments, fingertips moving over each set of his abs, starting from his pecks until you’re down to his naval and then back up, moving teasingly. He shivers underneath you, you’re not sure if it’s a good thing because he looks a little terrified but oh so excited, you know he’s excited; he’s always like that when you two fuck. He loves being able to be so intimate with you, he always has.

This distant bullshit doesn’t cancel that out.

Your fingers travel over his neck, his clavicle, his nipples, his shoulders and arms. You love his naked torso, it’s hard yet smooth under your touch. He’s all yours to touch.

He grabs the bottom of your shirt and does the same to you, letting it fall somewhere unknown and admiring your physique. Yours isn’t too different from Jake’s, okay, so maybe you’re a little less buff because you’re not battling your own robotic creations and warding off zoomorphic creatures all day long in the midst of a goddamn forest all alone.

Neither of you can stop touching, tugging, pulling, it’s unbearably pleasurable. You feel this anger wash over you whenever you bite at his neck, determined to leave a mark, _he’s yours,_ nobody else can have him the way you do, you’ll make sure of that. His nails drag down your back, you swear you’re gonna start bleeding, those fucking sharp things are never clipped, he’s so untidy, he’s such a mess of nails and teeth and hair and beautiful disgusting face, you could punch him again.

But you don’t.

If you want to make this work, you have to start compromising. You have to talk, you have to talk, you have to start communicating. You need Jake to tell you how he’s feeling.

“Why have you been avoiding me like the bubonic plague for the last few months?” You ask curtly, ridding him of his pants, letting them get lost. It’s okay, he lives here, he’s probably walked around here stark naked before without a problem. Doing it later shouldn’t make a difference. You want to press further.

His throat’s dry when your hands rub at his thighs, avoiding what you know he’s aching for, what you’re aching to touch. Aw, he’s standing for you too; you lick at your lips and keep your eyes on his face.

“I’ve been terrified,” He confesses, mouthing words that aren’t coming out, he’s trying, you can tell, “By Gods, I’ve been so terrified that I’ve been pussyfooting around this particular conversation for quite some time.”

You shoot him a look that tells him to come out with it, you’ve used it on him before when he dances around situations with you. It’s like you two have been locked in this tango for what seems like forever, never taking a rest off of your feel, it’s always dance, dance, next song comes on, and repeat.

You grab his dick, you’re actually quiet soft when you do so because you love him and maybe he’s finally getting around to tell you while he’s making your heart ache so bad. You grab him and strokes slowly, carefully, watching his face contort with emotion. He wants you to move your hand faster, you hear the soft whimper of him asking for it, but you press on the issue.

He cracks when you play with his balls, pressing against that one area that has him moaning. He says that he’s been avoiding you because he’s terrified of falling in love with you, terrified of becoming vulnerable in your presence. He wants to seem strong and brave in front of you – he doesn’t need to prove that, you already know – but he’s so afraid that you won’t like him as much as you used to.

You know that’s silly, you could never stop loving him, but that stabs another hole into your heart. By the time he’s telling you he’s sorry again, he was being a jerk, blaming everything on just you being clingy and protective, when really there was something else hiding underneath that. The fist that you wanted to raise at him, use it to abuse him until he’s stopped breathing, until all of his teeth are gone, slowly lowers.

You’re beginning to understand. He grabs you by the back of your neck and smashes your lips together again, tears pricking at his eyes this time. He mutters sorry in between each kiss, each peck, each caress he brings onto your body, hands moving over your sides, your back, your ass.

You get lost in the touches and the passion, you don’t notice anything else because all that’s here right now is you and this boy. The one who makes your heart sing like a bird, makes you fly like a plane, gives you the energy to move onto the next day; he gives you a reason to look forward to an empty tomorrow.

He is your light, he is your hope.

It feels like the whole world can hear you when you’re coming onto his stomach, in his hand, after he started to stroke you in return. His hands are so callous and perfect against your skin as he touches you until you’re done, you doing the same for him in return, broad and long, until you feel empty inside. It’s quickly filled when Jake presses kisses to your face, reassures you that things will finally get better, he’s sorry for everything, can you forgive him, he’ll make it up to you.

He keeps apologizing like a fool but you’re glad that he’s caring, he’s not always a pompous asshole. You’ll forgive him if he doesn’t treat you wrong anymore. You can work through this, you know it, he promises you that he can too.

He makes you smile, he makes you frown, he makes you angry, he makes you surprised, he makes you feel all these goddamn emotions and some of them you don’t want to feel, they’re too painful, they ache and bite and tear at your body like bullets, you feel like you’re being shot to death, you’re dying a million deaths in one.

Best of all, he makes you feel human and that’s worth every other stupid emotion you feel.


End file.
